Drive
by boysinperil
Summary: Written for the February Diva-Off on LJ. Kurt and Puck on the road. Disclaimer: Not mine. Thank you for letting me play with them, though, RM.


These are the moments that Kurt loves best - the open road in front of him, blue sky with a few puffy clouds, a playlist full of favorites. Driving fills him with joy, endless possibilities stretching out before him, sliding away under his wheels. However, this isn't how he thought the day would go, driving Noah Puckerman's truck, having an actual conversation.

In point of fact, the day hadn't start out so well; he had forgotten to charge his phone and overslept, and missed the bus taking the club to their meet in Louisville. Everyone but Puck had been dropped off by a long-gone parent, and Kurt's baby was on loan to a customer, which left Puck the only one with the means to follow along. Kurt was glad he hadn't been there for that conversation.

"Where's the bus?" The parking was empty save a few scattered teachers' cars, Noah, and his '73 Chevy.

"You're lookin' at it. Get in, Captain Homo."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Totally not kidding. If you want to get there after the performance starts, keep talking. If you shut up and get in the truck now, we might actual beat them there, depending on how fast I can drive."

"How long have they been gone?"

"Oh, twenty minutes or so. You wouldn't answer your phone."

"The battery was dead, and you'd have to go 100 miles an hour to beat them to Louisville."

"Yeah, I know. I like driving fast."

"Well, that's one thing we've got in common, then."

There didn't seem to be much else, though. The next 45 minutes were spent in silence, not even the radio to break the quiet. Kurt had plugged in his phone, responded to Mercedes' 4258 messages and reassured her he was, indeed, on the way and had not been killed by Puck, and now he was bored enough to consider talking. He had just opened his mouth, when Puck started swearing and the truck swerved off the road.

"Shit. Shitshitshit."

"Swearing at it isn't going to fix anything, Puckerman. What's the problem?"

"If I knew that don't you think I'd've fixed it?"

"No, I don't mean what's _wrong_ with it; I mean what noise is it making, how does it _feel_ wrong?"

"Like you would even understand, Hummel. Just shut up."

Kurt sighs like he's exhaling every breath he's ever taken, and his eyes roll so hard they hurt a little. "Puck, Lima's not that big a town. How many garages does it have?"

"Two. Why are you still talking?"

"And what are the names of those garages?"

"Jack's and…uh. Hummel's. So, your dad knows stuff, doesn't mean you do."

Kurt was already climbing out of the truck. "Puck, it's an American-made vehicle built before 1980. There just aren't that many moving parts, and none computerized. Now open the hood; I don't want to crawl in between your legs to do it myself." Kurt could have slapped himself for that one. Just because Puck had stopped slushing him, and appeared to be becoming an actual human being, didn't mean he was going to suddenly start batting for (…or catching for) Kurt's team.

Puck joined him outside, staring morosely down at the engine block. "Ok, Puck, you really do have to tell me what's been happening."

"It's been backfiring a lot, losing power when I'm driving…it kinda stutters like Tina."

"Not nice. Do you have another t-shirt and a screwdriver in this mess?" Kurt was pulling his sweater off and unbuttoning his shirt. Puck's eyes were trying to look anywhere but at Kurt. "Puck. Hello? You've seen more than this of me in the showers, and I am _not_ getting that sweater all greasy. Consider yourself lucky I'm not stripping down to my fashionable boxer-briefs. T-shirt, please?" Kurt was now naked from the waist up, and Puck had apparently forgotten how to speak English. He rummaged through the space behind the seats, and threw a cleanish shirt at Kurt. Hmm. Maybe there was potential here after all. "No screwdriver? Ok…I've got a pocket-knife that should do the trick."

"Hummel, are you taking apart my truck? If you don't know how to fix that, I'm going to toss you in the nearest dumpster." Now that Kurt was covered, Puck's speaking powers had returned.

"No you won't," Kurt's muffled voice sounded from under the hood. "One, there are no dumpsters in the middle of this cornfield. Two…ow, dammit…my kingdom for my tools…two, you haven't thrown me into a dumpster in months."

"I could relapse."

Kurt laughed. "It could happen. Get in and try it now."

The truck started with only the tiniest cough, and Kurt pulled the hood down. He thought about stripping back down but knew he wouldn't get all the oil off his hands until he got to a source of soap and water, and he had been serious about not messing up his clothes.

"So, since I fixed it, can I drive?" He blinked puppy-dog eyes at Puck, and laughed at the look it produced. "Excellent, I love driving."

Puck tossed him the keys and slid over. "That means I get to choose the music, Hummel."

"Wonderful, I'm interested in hearing the best of Neil Diamond."

"There's more than that on my iPod."

And they were off, a real conversation that felt almost friendly. Music segued to movies to television to school gossip, and before they knew it, they were nearly to Louisville.

No, this was definitely not how Kurt had pictured this day going, but…with the wheels turning their song underneath him, the road ahead of him, Puck next to him…life was just full of potential. Who knew where that next curve, that next rise might take them?


End file.
